


My Roommate is a Xenomorph

by mydarksidelovesthis



Category: Alien Quadrilogy (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Funny, Gen, Humor, Worldbuilding, Xenomorph Roommate, weird combination of Humor and Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27325186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydarksidelovesthis/pseuds/mydarksidelovesthis
Summary: You live in a shared flat with a xenomorph named Fred. He constantly leaves bloody corpses and eggs everywhere and his table manners leave a lot to be desired. At least he takes care of the bills and your family seems to like him.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	My Roommate is a Xenomorph

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Mein Mitbewohner ist ein Xenomorph](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27324904) by [mydarksidelovesthis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydarksidelovesthis/pseuds/mydarksidelovesthis). 



> Dear Reader,
> 
> I played a game: I went to tvtropes.org, called up a random page and wrote whatever came to my mind. It was: "World of Weirdness". Now it had become more of "Monster Roommate", but whatever.
> 
> I googled "Xenomorph Roommate" and all I find is an episode of Cartoon Network. Seriously, Internet? At least now there's this. You're welcome.
> 
> Kind regards,  
> My Experimental Side Loves This

The sight of aliens has become commonplace for you. You see them walking across the street, riding the bus, yes, one of them even sits at the checkout in the supermarket where you regularly shop. Well, nobody sits down next to them on the bus and the cash register there is always free, and besides, there is always a strong smell of blood around them, and by the time you understand what it wants to tell you with its screaming, you would have long since finished at the other cash register. What can you do.

There is only one alien you cannot avoid - the one you share an apartment with: Fred. At least you think that's his name, because the bloodstains that covered the tiles in the bathroom when you first visited the apartment formed these letters. Somehow no one else wanted the apartment, and you soon realized why.

Well, sometimes he has his good sides. In the morning you find the letters smeared with sticky saliva and with teeth marks on your seat. He takes care of the bills. You don't know how exactly, you don't ask any further questions.

Today you have breakfast together. He is sitting in front of a bowl of cornflakes. His little mouth shoots out, bangs through the bowl, through the table. Pieces of broken ceramic, cornflakes flying around, milk splashing in your face. Your cereal is thrown up by the table and lands on his head with the bowl. Saliva runs out of his mouth, a strange contrast to the bowl, which he now wears like a cap. What a ridiculous sight.

"I'm sorry, but next time why don't you get a spoon yourself instead of making such a fuss?" These aliens are so childish sometimes.

"Um, my parents are coming to visit tomorrow. "Could you please not do anything weird while they're here? This drooling, this destroying things, you know. I told them you were studying law. You can stay in your room if you don't want to meet them. I'll tell them you're out."

In the evening you come home and find a big, slimy egg in your bed. Disgusting. You write to Fred by Whatsapp that he should remove it before you get a flamethrower. Of course he doesn't answer, as usual, but this time you get impatient and decide to tell him in person again.

You open the door to his room - oh, he has a lady visit and it's getting hot. The walls are splattered all over. He lifts his head from the whimpering body below him and dramatically turns his eyeless face towards you. "Oh, I'm sorry", you apologize and scurry back out. "Next time, put a hand on the doorknob so I know not to disturb."

So you decide to take care of dinner first. Obviously Fred has had lunch in front of the TV, because when you cross the living room the screen is splashed with blood. You roll your eyes annoyed and write him another Whatsapp. "Will you wipe the TV off by tonight? I wanted to watch a movie. About a couple of humans who discover an alien species and they slaughter each other. You can watch it if you want, I'm sure you'd like it." What a ridiculous movie. It's like we can't settle our conflicts with words. In response, you hear Fred's screeching echoing through the apartment, which you take as a yes.

It's no better in the kitchen. The garbage can is overflowing with leftover meat. Such inconsideration. Once again you take out your phone and write him a Whatsapp. "Take out the garbage more often if you produce so much garbage." With all the slime that surrounds the overflowing garbage can like a cocoon, you don't feel like doing the job.

Now the xenomorph is coming at you with quick steps. Blood and saliva drip from his teeth onto the tiles. He sniffs the trash can. Turns his head to one side, then to the other as if he was looking for something. Then he disappears outside again. "What do you mean it's not yours? Do I look like I eat raw meat?"

He probably didn't hear you. He only hears what he wants to hear.

After the little snack for dinner you want to take a shower. When you take things out of your room, the egg has disappeared. Just as you're on your way to the bathroom, you wonder where he put it when you pull the shower curtain aside - there it is. You pull back. "Fred, you left the egg in the shower." Had he washed it and stored it there to dry? "Can't you dry it before the heater? Please take it away, I want to shower." But other than a screeching, nothing happens, how ruthless. So you confine yourself to a quick wash at the sink.

You want to get a coke for the movie, but when the door of the refrigerator swings open, the shadow of the egg falls on the tiles between the yellow shines. "Freeed! Please stop leaving your stuff everywhere. Imagine me doing that."

You don't know how or when he does it. He only has the one egg, and as soon as you leave the room for a minute, it's gone - just like it is now. When you open the refrigerator again, it is nowhere to be seen. At least he takes your requests seriously. You look around suspiciously where he has hidden it this time, but you don't find it.

"The film is about to start, if you want to watch it," you call and turn on the TV. No answer. Fred is more of the thinker, not a friend of many words.

Right now the movie is so exciting that you slide on the couch towards the screen. When you turn around, the egg is standing next to you on the couch. 

"Freed!," you call out, "You can't do that. The film is R rated. The egg is too young for that. What, your species doesn't have youth protection?"

At least the commercial break is just starting and you switch to a children's show, to keep the egg entertained while you get new chips. To the sound of a children's song, four lobes open quietly on top of the egg.

In the kitchen, you're pouring new chips into a bowl and you can hear little bare legs pitter-pattering on the tiles behind you.

You turn around. Nothing to see. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to turn on a horror movie when you live with someone like Fred. He is so sensitive and the screaming from the TV makes him a little nervous. Maybe you should call it a day. You rip open the cupboard door to put the chips back in when something slams the door at the same moment and you get your hand caught.

"Ouch!" you yell. Something whizzes around your bare feet and disappears outside the light. Just now you're crouching in front of the open fridge when you hear it tapering again, put the cola away and quickly slam the door. Your nerves are playing a trick on you and you think you hear it screeching from the closed fridge. Ridiculous, Fred doesn't even fit in the fridge. You should watch less horror movies, they make you lose touch with reality. It's really time to sleep.

The next morning a stiff frozen facehugger is lying in front of your seat on the dining table. You stare at it and then to Fred with a scared look, who is sitting motionless in front of his cornflakes. You are not sure if he is looking at you with his eyeless face or at his food. You interpret it as an embarrassed silence. "I'm so sorry. Do you need someone to talk to?" Poor guy. It must be hard to lose your offspring at that age. I don't know how it happened. It's not so cold in that apartment. Maybe it has been in a draught for too long.

When you have problems with your Internet, you call the hotline. On the other side a screeching greets you.

"I can't access the Internet," you explain to the xenomorph on the other end of the line. "The light on the router is blinking and the network symbol says I have no Internet."

Another shriek. You listen hard to the sound, let it recapitulate several times. "Um, I didn't understand that, can you repeat that?"

The alien screeches again. You guess you have no choice. "Hold on, let me ask my flatmate."

You hold one hand in front of the microphone and call over: "Fred, I need your help. One of your people is on the line, but I don't understand his dialect."

Fred comes screaming. His little mouth shoots out, knocks the phone out of your hand, then runs around in circles in the kitchen several times, getting caught on the router's power cord and ripping it out as he runs back to his room. You have to admit that you don't understand his dialect either, but when you plug the router back in, it dials into the Internet as you would expect and everything is fine. "Thank you, Fred," you call after him.

You are sitting together with coffee and cake. Your mother talks a lot. "Nice you have it here, I like this wall decoration, is it something like this ink stain test as wallpaper? Very original. How are your studies going, honey, have you found an internship yet?"

You just shoved a piece of cake in your mouth and you make a gesture that you can't answer, so she just keeps talking. "And you're going to law school, I heard. Are you gonna be a lawyer or what else can you do with that degree?"

Fred sits quietly over his pitch-black coffee. From his bared teeth a single long thread drips down into the cup.

"Oh, I see, you don't want to talk about it," your mother continues. "How indiscreet of me. Sorry for the personal question. The situation is still quite new for us, the presence of ... um, is it racism to call you an alien?"

"Aliens are what they're called when they're not from Earth," your father smart-alecked. "It's like the word foreigner referring to countries. They are citizens of the Earth and therefore not aliens."

"Oh, sorry." Mother is embarrassed. "We're not specicists or anything. We appreciate cultural growth, but we don't know many of your kind. Our neighbor once met one in a supermarket and went on vacation with him. Hm, that must have been a while ago, we haven't heard from her since. I'm sure she's having a lot of fun with her new boyfriend. Yes, she's already retired and can just go on vacation for three months or even longer. We can't do that."

"If you ask me", your father now interjects, "the whole thing stinks to high heaven. I think the government is hiding something. You're not from another planet, you're from a government lab, aren't you? I think that because of the aluminum salts in the vaccines, children develop this long head and black outer armor. There are documents that prove it. The process is well understood. Now the government is trying to cover up the many victims by declaring them a new species. But that's just my opinion, of course."

Fred slowly turns his eyeless head to your father and says nothing. You wonder what's going on in his mind. But he does the only right thing and remains silent.

The xenomorph can be persuaded to accompany your parents to the door when they leave. Your mother even lets herself be carried away to a hug, which Fred silently accepts.

"It was very nice to meet you." Your mother smiles at him. "Please feel free to come and visit us when you have time. We have a nice garden in the countryside, lots of woods around, you would surely like it if you ever need some peace and quiet from the hectic city. Goodbye."

Your father gives him a friendly nod and offers him his hand, while in the other one he holds the gift that Fred gave him. It looks like an oversized Easter egg wrapped in colorful wrapping paper. "Thank you very much for your hospitality. I am always open to learning about other cultures. This one," he briefly lifts the gift, "will get a place of honor in our living room." Then both of them leave out the door.

"I'm sorry, I hope my father didn't upset you too much," you apologize. "He spends too much time on the Internet lately, but otherwise he's quite nice."

Sometimes you play together in the evening, but games are not really his thing. Ludo always ends with the death of all game pieces that were previously infected by alien parasites and in the end all fields are occupied by aliens. Chess basically ends in a bloody slaughter, with both kings decapitated. He is a bad loser and interprets the rules in a way that he wins. After the last game of Guitar Hero the TV was full of holes - well, he had hit all the colored buttons, you had to give him credit for that.

Your mood changes abruptly when a visit from Fred's family is announced. One day on your way home, you see these dark figures scurrying across the paths as if they were playing hide and seek with the light.

"Fred, you know I like you," you say to him as you lean against the door of your apartment, breathing heavily. "But I have no desire to meet your parents. When they come over, I'll lock myself in my room."

With the next bell you hide and lock your door in the firm conviction that you will sit it out. He hasn't seen his family for months, but that's too much foreign culture in one heap for your taste.

You spend the evening in bed with a good book, hoping that their party noises will subside by bedtime, but early in the morning at half past one their rumbling tears you out of bed. You are about to go out and ask them to be a little quieter, but when you see the pool of blood flowing into the room under your bedroom door, you change your mind. To look at the mess outside would only upset you more. Tomorrow morning you will write a Whatsapp to Fred to clean up the mess by evening, and when you leave your room you will leave the light off when you have breakfast. Sometimes he's unbearable as a roommate, but somehow you get along. In the end everything is only half as bad.


End file.
